


True North

by goodbye2pisces



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbye2pisces/pseuds/goodbye2pisces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of a fairytale wedding that's been three years in the making, Donna discovers that the Doctor is still full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True North

Donna’s still awake when the knock at the door finally comes. She’s waiting up for him in the kitchen, a cup of steaming tea warming her hands and a plate of biscuits on the table. They’re the kind he likes, the ones with chocolate on. She glances at the clock above the sink. It’s just past three in the morning. With a frown she rises from her chair, gathering her gauzy dressing gown around her as she slowly opens the door.

She crosses her arms, eyeing the four snickering fools drunkenly hanging on each other beneath her porch light. There’s an idling cab parked in the driveway. She nods at the driver before giving Jack her attention.

“You were supposed to have him back by eleven,” she says flatly. 

Her gaze settles on the Doctor’s flushed face. He grins at her like an intoxicated cat. Winking jauntily, he stumbles a bit as an equally inebriated Mickey and Alonso unsteadily prop him up between them.

“Pffftt,” Jack slurs dismissively. “The party was just getting started at eleven.” He stands there, grinning drunkenly at her, his bloodshot eyes barely open. “What kind of a best-man would I be if I let the groom leave the party before it even started on his last day of freedom?!” 

He spins round, directing the question to his besotted companions who immediately shout their agreement, loudly hooting and hollering like a bunch of unruly school boys.

“You’re not the best man Jack,” Donna murmurs tightly, more than a little put out by that _last day of freedom_ crack, “Martha is.” She frowns, noticing the lights coming on throughout the neighbourhood at the sudden commotion, illuminating the TARDIS parked across the street. She hopes no one calls the police.

“And we asked her to join us,” Jack slurs somewhat indignantly, as if insulted by the implication of ungentlemanly conduct, “but for some reason she declined the invitation.”

“Oh you don’t say,” Donna says sardonically, “I can’t imagine why.”

“I know!” Jack cries, “I keep telling her, fighting off alien insurgents is all well and good Martha Jones, but you gotta learn to live a little too! I mean, take Mickey over there,” he slurs, indicating the younger man with a clumsy tilt of his head.

Donna glances over at Mickey who’s looking at the Doctor, “I may throw up on you,” Mickey tells him, swallowing queasily. 

The Doctor squints at him, blinking lethargically as if waiting for the message to penetrate his pickled brain. “That way,” he says finally, turning Mickey’s head away with the tip of his finger.

“Charming,” Donna says dryly. 

“At least _he_ knows how to have a good time,” Jack slurs drunkenly, “Martha’s like Bones from _Star Trek_ , always complaining about everything, only sexy… Sexy-Bones.”

“Oi,” Mickey grunts, crossly. “what would you know about my wife’s sexy bones.”

“Well, I’m not _blind_ am I?” Jack snaps back.

“Just blind drunk,” Donna murmurs to no one in particular.

“Jack’s always the best man,” Alonso blurts suddenly, seemingly five-minutes behind the rest of the conversation, “wherever we go.”

“Thank you sweetie,” Jack says, winking clumsily at the normally shy young man’s uncharacteristically bold statement, “you’re sexy too, well except for the ears of course,” he says caressing one protruding lobe, " _those_ are ridiculous.”  Alonso giggles like a little girl as Jack nuzzles his neck and whispers whiskey sweet nothings into his un-sexy ears.

“Get a room boys,” Donna says, flatly.

She’s beginning to lose patience with them. One day, is that too much to ask? One perfect day where she gets to feel like a princess in a fairy-tale and not an undead zombie due to lack of sleep.

“Speaking of sexy,” Jack slurs suggestively, “there’s no need to look any further than the blushing bride.” He takes a step closer, draping his arm around Alonso’s neck as he gives Donna a long appraising look that makes her self-consciously clutch her dressing gown a bit more tightly to herself. “Isn’t she lovely Anzo,” he says, planting a kiss on the softly giggling man’s temple, “she’s practically glowing.”

“I will kill you with my bare hands, Jack,” the Doctor warns him mildly and Jack pulls a face.

“Yeah right,” he snorts dismissively, “like _that_ ever takes.” 

“All right,” Donna says, rolling her eyes, “it’s well past time you lot were on your way.”

“Or what, sexy-bride,” Jack says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “you’ll spank me?”

“Trust me, the hangover will take care of that,” Donna says dryly. “Now shift.”

After much whinging and complaining, she’s finally able to muscle them into the waiting cab, Jack “accidentally” groping her breast as she pushes him inside. 

“Kensington, the Milestone Hotel,” she tells the driver in annoyance. 

The three of them fall over each other in the back seat, whistling and laughing as the Doctor waves chuckling from the front stoop. Donna hears them break into some tuneless drinking song before finally fading from view as they turn the corner.

She turns to find the Doctor smiling at her from the top step, looking happily disheveled in his hopelessly wrinkled suit and lopsided tie, his tan overcoat hanging askew over his lanky frame.

“You really didn’t need to wait up,” he says, sounding far less drunk than he did just a few minutes ago.

“I know,” Donna says simply.

“You weren’t worried, I hope.”

“I wasn’t, not really, it’s just...I keep forgetting that underneath it all you’re really just twelve,” she says, climbing the steps beside him, “and now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

He lays his hand on hers just as she’s about to open the door. “Just how committed _are_ you to this whole spending the night apart thing?” he asks, eyeing the TARDIS across the street.

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Committed enough not to let you charm your way into my bed, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says.

“Oh I don’t know,” he says cheerfully, “I have faith in me.”

“You’re not even a little drunk, are you,” she says, studying his face. He reeks of whiskey, yet his eyes are clear.

“Time Lord metabolism,” he says simply. “Cup of tea for the road then,” he continues, pushing his way into the kitchen ahead of her.

“So what,” Donna says, pulling a face as she closes the door behind them, “you can’t get drunk?” Come to think of it, she can’t recall ever seeing him so much as tipsy in all the time they’ve been together.

“Oh I _can_ ,” he says absently, “it just takes more time and effort than I put into it tonight, that’s all.” 

“Why pretend then?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Jack seemed determined that having a good time hinged on my getting as lashed as humanly possible, why disappoint him?”

“Do I want to know what happened?” Donna asks, her eyes narrowing warily.

“Probably not,” the Doctor admits, “although _my_ clothes never came off, if that makes you feel any better.”

He discards the contents of her forgotten cup into the sink. “Tea’s gone cold,” he says. “It’s nothing more than a silly superstition you know,” he continues, changing the subject as he refills the kettle and places it on the stove.

“It’s tradition for the bride and groom to spend the night apart before the wedding,” Donna insists.

“We already _had_ the wedding Donna,” he says, grabbing a chocolate biscuit from the table, “three years ago. I know, I was there,” he says, between mouthfuls, “you were there. Our _son_ was there. All concerned parties were there. We’re married, legally and properly.”

“In outer space,” Donna persists, “in some future time-period on some distant alien world that’s part of some distant alien empire.”

“Distant _Human_ empire,” he says, taking the chair beside her.

“Whatever. The point is, we’re not married where it counts. Not on _Earth_ , not really, and not with my family in attendance.”

“Actually…”

“Oh shut up,” Donna snaps, “you know what I mean. Look I admit it, I was one of those little girls who went to sleep every night dreaming of being a beautiful bride one day.”

“You _were_ a beautiful bride.”

Donna stares at him, one eyebrow raised skeptically. She was many things that day, beautiful was not one of them.

“Well, you were beautiful to me,” the Doctor says, quite sincerely.

“I know,” Donna says with a wan smile, “and I love you for it, but I just… I just, want it all. I want the gorgeous church wedding with a million flowers and ribbons and garlands and a thousand twinkling lights. I want music and dancing and pictures and gourmet food. I want my granddad to walk me down the aisle and I want bridesmaids sick with jealously because I look so radiant that no one else can take their eyes off me.” 

The Doctor chuckles slightly at that.

“But most of all,” Donna says, looking him in the eye, “I want to stand up in front of the people who mean the most to me and let them see that the man standing next to me in the hopelessly out of date tuxedo and daft trainers is the man I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with. I want them to see the beautiful little boy we created together and I want them to _know_ in their hearts that I have never been happier.”

The kettle begins to boil and Donna looks up. “It’s selfish I know,” she says, rising from her chair to turn it off.

“That tuxedo happens to be _vintage_ ,” the Doctor says wryly and Donna smiles to herself as she fixes their tea.

When she turns back towards him, two steaming cups of tea in her hands, there’s a small blue box with a white ribbon laid out on the table.

“What’s that?” she asks, returning to her chair.

“Anniversary present,” the Doctor says simply, sliding the polished box towards her.

“Our anniversary isn’t until tomorrow,” Donna says, taking a thoughtful sip of her tea.

The Doctor glances at the clock. “It _is_ tomorrow,” he says, “go on open it. You know I have no patience. I’m twelve underneath remember?”

Donna’s mouth quirks slightly at that. She sets aside her cup and takes the box, glancing sidelong at the silent Time Lord as he smiles wanly into his tea. She removes the lid to find a silver pendant laying on a velvet mat inside the box. It’s a delicately crafted locket of intricate spirals, obviously _Gallifreyan_ in design. She opens the clasp to find a working compass inside.

Puzzled, she lifts the locket from its box, the delicate silver chain dangling between her fingers as she holds the compass in the palm of her hand and watches the arrow slowly spin before finally coming to rest, oddly enough, right on the Doctor.

“Turn it over,” he says softly.

There’s an inscription on the back. “Not all those who wander are lost,” Donna reads aloud, still not quite seeing the significance.

“Before I met you I was lost,” the Doctor explains softly, “wandering aimlessly without purpose. I wasn’t even enjoying myself anymore to be honest, just going through the motions. Then one day you suddenly appeared and found me again. You gave my wandering life meaning. You gave me Allie.” He takes her hand, covering the cool silver locket in her palm with his. “You are my true north, Donna,” he says, “and if you need me to stand up in front of the people you love and declare it every-single day for the rest of my life, then that’s what I’ll do.” 

Donna smiles. “Once will be enough,” she murmurs, caressing his cheek before kissing him softly on the lips.

“You’re tired,” he says when they part, “I should let you get some sleep.”

He stands up and rinses his tea cup out in the sink before placing it in the washer. “I’ll just look in on Allie before I go,” he says.

She watches him bounce up the stairs two steps at a time, a little half-smile on her face as she fingers her anniversary present. She puts it on, clasping the delicate silver chain at the back of her neck. She watches the tiny arrow slowly spin before coming to rest above her beating heart. 

It seems only fitting.

~END~


End file.
